


Like a Max Out of Hell

by DoreyG



Category: Batman Beyond
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Community: comment_fic, Crime Fighting, Crushes, F/F, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Max is Batman, Seduction, Stabbing, Terry is an Adorable Brat, Texting, inappropriate relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4420292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>Dana</i>,” she hisses, horrified despite the distraction of Dana’s hair and Dana’s eyes and Dana’s fingers and <i>man</i> is being a gay girl in high school tough, “one, there is a sixty year age difference. Two, my boss is super crazy intense and Terry is super crazy <i>Terry</i>. And three, <i>I am not a pimp</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Max Out of Hell

“So,” Terry says one day, so casually that for a moment she thinks that he’s going to ask her to do his homework ( _again_ ), “that old guy you work for…”

She stares at him for a moment, absolutely stunned, and then throws up her hands before he can do more than give an innocent smile. An exceedingly innocent smile, the kind of innocent smile that she’d expect from somebody who cured poverty and established world peace all in one day, “ _no_.”

Terry blinks, stunned, tries the innocent smile. It work even less, this time, “I was just gonna ask-“

“No,” she says. Very, _very_ firmly, “I am _not_ gonna help you with your transition into a kept boy. No _way_.”

 

\--

 

“So,” Bruce starts awkwardly that night, leaning heavily on his cane as she gets ready in the Batcave, “that boy you associate with…”

She stares at him for a moment, somehow stunned into speechlessness _again_ , and then gives the kind of sigh that has frequently had villains – if you can call them villains, idiots who have made bad life choices is probably more accurate – lay down their guns and slowly back away, “ _No_.”

Bruce doesn’t blink, he’s far too much of an old bat to allow himself to do something so common, but his scowl gets just a touch deeper. Having seen a vast variety of Bruce’s scowls in the past few months, she’s entirely unimpressed, “Maxine-“

“Call me Maxine again and I’ll bring the suit back in _rags_ ,” she says, very shortly, and slides the mask neatly over her face, “I am _not_ gonna help you with your transition into a sugar daddy.”

 

\--

 

“Max,” Terry says the next day, with the kind of determination that makes her both repress a fond smile and want to punch him in the face, “look, about the old guy-“

Today, on about three hours of sleep and with her ribs still aching from being thrown into a _wall_ last night, it’s a lot closer to the punching side of things. She turns on her heel, fixes him with the fiercest gaze she can muster – which is pretty damn fierce, considering the way that several other students leap back around them like they’re having heart attacks, “ _no_.”

Terry, to his credit, stands his ground. Looks a little terrified, but stands his ground nonetheless, “you didn’t even let me finish-“

“I am not indulging your sudden, weird taste for older men,” she snaps, very firmly, “go _away_ before I _make_ you.”

 

\--

 

“Maxi- Max,” Bruce starts cautiously when she pops by after school, obviously starting to get into the habit of taking her threats seriously after the last few times she almost wrecked vital pieces of equipment, “we need to talk.”

She debates, for a moment, just getting back in the car and maybe knocking over a priceless statue or two as she leaves. But that, unfortunately, is only the sleeplessness talking and so she settles for a low sigh instead. A very low sigh, so low that even Bruce looks a bit uncomfortable with it, “no.”

But, to the old guy’s credit, he doesn’t do much more than look uncomfortable. It’s why she still admires him, even if he is a grumpy old fossil who seems to have spent the past twenty years glaring stubbornly at various things in his haunted mansion, “it’s about the boy, Terry-“

“I am not a pimp,” she says, as coolly as she can possibly manage when thinking of pimping her nubile – sorry, Ter, but the glove fits – teenage friend out to a guy old enough to be his great-grandfather, “and, unless you need me to get extra milk for your grumpy cornflakes, I am _leaving_.”

 

\--

 

“So,” Dana grins easily one lunchtime, sliding into the seat across from her with that same supermodel grace that caused her to have a burning crush through most of middle school, “Terry keeps talking to me about your boss.”

She drops her fork, stares at Dana with open horror. She looks more amused than anything, a side effect of being Terry’s best friend since before either of them could walk she supposes, “ _no_.”

“Yes,” Dana smiles, tucking into her own lunch neatly and calmly. And, okay, maybe that crush has lasted through most of high school too – but who’s even counting at this point? “It’s quite sweet, really… Or, at the very least, sweet for Terry. Are you going to hook them up, or-?”

“ _Dana_ ,” she hisses, horrified despite the distraction of Dana’s hair and Dana’s eyes and Dana’s fingers and _man_ is being a gay girl in high school tough, “one, there is a sixty year age difference. Two, my boss is super crazy intense and Terry is super crazy _Terry_. And three, _I am not a pimp_.”

 

\--

 

“Yo,” Terry says cheerily after school, sliding in besides her before she can quicken her pace or duck her head or even just spring up onto the rooftops like the goddamn Batman that she is, “so, I was thinking…”

“Unwise,” she says flatly, just keeps walking instead. Because, as satisfying as a backflip feels, the combined wrath of Bruce and Commissioner Gordon is just not what she wants to deal with on a school night, “dangerous, even. You don’t want to be doing that, Ter, you don’t know _where_ it could lead.”

“Ha ha,” Terry says, _almost_ flatly but for the inevitable smirk dancing around the corner of his mouth – it’s adorable, really, how he can’t _really_ keep a straight face going for more than a minute at a time, “very funny, Max. Look, I was thinking, if you’re free any night this week I’d like to take you to dinner. My-“

“You can’t bribe me, McGinnis,” she interrupts, and - _thankfully_ \- slides into her car before he can do more than pause with his jaw flapping open like some sort of creepy kid’s toy used by her more _interesting_ villains when they want to bump their way up the freaky scale, “I’m just not that sort of girl.”

 

\--

 

“Hello,” Bruce starts stiffly when she ambles into the cave before patrol, shifting in that certain way that always makes her _wish_ that she was just an ordinary high school student with ordinary problems such as trying not to strangle all the jocks around her while maintaining a perfect grade average, “Max. I was wondering-“

“You never wonder,” she reminds him, with a certain sense of dread that has become all too common lately. She can’t help it, she’s pretty sure that it’s a default state of being around somebody as _Batman_ as Bruce – there’s a _reason_ why all of his rogues gallery were such crazies, “it’s not good for your heart, remember? Honestly, dude, are you _trying_ to bring around another heart attack?”

“Your sense of humour is, as ever, appreciated,” Bruce grumbles, in a tone that suggests that the exact opposite is true and she might well have to watch her back around the numerous – and highly fucking creepy – sudden drops in the Batcave for the next few days, “an opera company will be coming to Gotham tomorrow night, and I think you may appreciate it. They’ll be putting on one of my old favourites, _La_ -“

“I don’t think opera is gonna be my thing, thanks,” she interrupts, and heads quickly for her suit before he can do more than purse his lips together like the particularly prudish kind of statue that apparently used to be the style in Gotham before mega skyscrapers hit the scene, “I’m _really_ not that kind of girl.”

 

\--

 

“Max!” Terry yells, bounding up into her space with a puppy dog smile on his face and… A whole bouquet of flowers in his arms, oh dear, “Max, hi. I know now that you’re not a bribery kind of girl, which I _super_ respect by the way, so to apologize I thought that I’d just- Uh. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says as casually as she can. Which is quite an achievement, actually, considering that she currently _can’t breathe_ and feels a little like her eyes are about to fall out of her head, “nothing at all, Ter. I only get severe hayfever around flowers, you really shouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“Oh,” Terry frowns thoughtfully, and glances down at the flowers in his hand. A moment, and then his eyes widen comically and the flowers go soaring across the food court – landing right in Mason’s lunch with a certain sense of flair that she’d _really_ appreciate at literally any other time, “Oh, _shit_. Max, I’m so sorry. Like, really _so_ sorry-“

“That’s alright, McGinnis,” she says, strangled. And sneezes so loudly, so _passionately_ , that it feels a little like her lungs are about to pop out through her nose, “you couldn’t have known that your attempts to get me to sell you into prostitution would have such disastrous effects. How _could_ you have?” 

 

\--

 

“Max,” Bruce mumbles awkwardly, turning gently in his chair as she comes in from patrol… With yet another fucking bouquet of flowers held in his lap, because apparently she has the best fucking luck in all the world, “wonderful to see you. Thank you for making me aware, last night, that you weren’t into opera. As an apology, I’d like you to take- you’re allergic to flowers, aren’t you.”

“Well,” she says, backing away quickly; and really, she has never - _never_ \- been so glad for both the speed and the sealing of this suit. She would happily kneel down and worship this technology for _days_ , if she could, “I hate to be blunt, you know me, but if you bring those things anywhere near me your new Batman is going to be turned inside out quicker than you can blink.”

“I blink slowly these days,” Bruce offers wryly, but swiftly chucks the flowers anyway. She knows that she should probably feel bad, watching them flutter brightly down into the endless black where she’s still half convinced Bruce keeps all of his old rogues, but she’s pretty sure that she doesn’t actually give anything even approaching a shit, “my apologies, Max. I should’ve checked your records before purchasing anything-“

“That’s alright,” she sighs, and wrinkles her nose - _sure_ that she can still smell the scent of sickly petals melodramatically haunting the air, “you couldn’t have known that your transparent attempts to seduce my jailbait friend would turn out terribly. How _could_ you have?” 

 

\--

 

“Okay,” The Commissioner sighs after the third time she sneezes loudly enough to be heard through the suit, turning on her heel so professionally that she’s reminded – all over again – of what exactly she wants to be when she grows up, “are you finally having a mental breakdown or something? Because, as much as I appreciate the necessity of it, this _really_ isn’t the time.”

“Uh,” she says, and then attempts a smile through the suit as the Commissioner only arches a weary eyebrow at her and waits patiently, “sorry, two of my… _Associates_ decided to present me with flowers yesterday, despite the fact that I’m highly and obviously allergic. Hey, Bar- Ms. Gordon, can I ask you something?”

“Barbara,” The Commissioner corrects, but doesn’t look too pissed off. She’s not exactly sure why the woman _does_ like her, other than maybe seeing a kindred spirit in Bruce’s crazy as fuck world, but it sure does make things a hell of a lot easier, “and, as long as you’re not dying and lying to me to preserve my tender feelings, shoot.”

“Has Bruce ever, y’know, _fixated_ on any teenagers around-“ she grinds to a halt, as her very own kindred spirit starts to laugh. Sighs, a touch fondly, at the sympathetic look spreading across her face, “great, just what I hoped for.”

 

\--

 

_hey Max_ , Terry texts her, midway through a particularly difficult – and, thus, particularly _annoying_ \- attempt to stop Inque from ripping out her internal organs and making cheerfully macabre balloons out of them, _just wanted to apologize again for the whole flowers thing. i’m just rlly rlly into your boss and would be super grateful if you set us up._

_Terry,_ she texts back in the next pause, when she’s _somehow_ \- don’t ask her how, so much of this job appears to be brute force and strangely inconsistent luck – kicked Inque into the side of a particularly pointy building, _this really isn’t the time._

_then when is the time?_ Comes the inevitably sulky reply, _just_ as Inque rises from her crater with a pissed-off screech and throws herself merrily into the breach once more, _come on Max pls stop brushing me off._

Unfortunately, it’s rather hard to do anything else when you’re simultaneously trying to keep your internal organs in place and discover just who the creepy internal organ ripper is working for. Ah well – maybe next time, Ter.

 

\--

 

_I would like to send my sincerest apologies for the flower incident, Max,_ Bruce messages her when she’s safely ensconced in the Batmobile – technically a Batplane, but who is she to argue with an old guy’s frequent nostalgia trips? – and Inque is safely halfway across the city without any of her internal organs in hand, _but we really do need to talk about your friend, Terry._

_THAT is your response to my report?_ She sends back incredulously, and really _does_ consider just leaving it there – just being the better person, ignoring all urge to slam her head against multiple walls – but, well, her throat aches and she’s probably suffering from a near fatal case of sleep deprivation. She’s allowed a bit of pissiness, _No thanks for risking your life, Max? No I couldn’t do it without you, Little Batman? Not even any speculation on who exactly Inque could be working for/with? SERIOUSLY?_

_Max,_ Bruce messages back after a distinct pause, one in which she _sincerely_ hopes he reconsiders a few of his life decisions and maybe reaches a new kind of inner peace with his obvious psychological issues, _My apologies, again, but I can’t help but feel that Terry is important somehow. I wish that you would stop deflecting from the issue._

Unfortunately it’s rather hard to do anything else, when a sudden form – knives most definitely in hand – lands on the hood of her very own Batcarplane. Ah well – maybe not in a million years, Brucie. 

 

\--

 

“Okay,” Terry starts defiantly, crackly over the phone as she dodges Kurare’s blade headed right for her eye in a way that’d fucking _hurt_ even with the mask, “look. I hate to interrupt your private time, but if you’re going to keep ignoring me there’s seriously no other option-“

“Terry,” she says through gritted teeth, and it’s only the machinery of the suit that saves her – a full body bend that, if it had come a second later, would’ve left her speared to a building and waiting for a rather slow and unpleasant death to come toddling along, “I am not ignoring you, there are many other options and this is _not_ the damn time.”

“Then _when_ is it the damn time?” Terry snaps peevishly, seemingly _unware_ of how close she is to being chopped into numerous little bits by a woman whose grasp of physics can be described as dubious at best, “honestly, it’s not like I’m asking for that much! All I want is an introduction to your super cute boss. Is that so hard, M-?”

“Terry,” she yelps, barely keeping her footing – on the mega high, mega dangerous building – as Kurare comes stubbornly for her yet again, “I don’t- Shit! Shit shit _shit_.”

 

\--

 

“Right,” Bruce says carefully over the comms, after she’s narrowly managed to drag herself back to the Batmobile with everything pretty much intact, “are you absolutely sure that you’re alright? Because I may seem heartless, but the idea of you bleeding out over Gotham is hardly one that fills me with joy.”

“Bruce,” she says, as soothingly as she can, and rotates her shoulders. It’s amazing, how a near death experience can make everything a lot clearer. Mostly, that getting randomly pissed about people acting like lovesick idiots around her is a complete waste of time, “I’m fine, honestly. All she did was scratch me. The suit may be a little banged up, but that’s easy enough to fix.”

“Indeed,” Bruce says slowly, and then pauses for a long moment. Before, that moment would’ve sent her into a panic – now she only settles back into the seat, sighs lowly and braces for whatever bit of rubbish is about to fall out of her boss’s mouth now, “look, Max, about Terry-“

“Yes,” she says, very sweetly, and closes her eyes, “about Terry. We may well have a problem there, big guy.”

 

\--

 

Several hours later, when Ace wanders over to her in the Batcave, she’s so tired that she actually stretches her hand out to him instead of doing her usual trick of trying to subtly shoo him away To his credit, and she never thought she’d give that cat menacing beast a single bit of _credit_ , he only pauses for a second before he responds – woofing at her hands like a normal dog, as opposed to an angry ball of hatred transformed into animal shape.

“I feel sorry for you, boy,” she says sympathetically, barely smothering the kind of huge yawn that would have Bruce – as much as he pretends to be the big, bad Batguy - clucking like a mother hen, “I only have to put up with him, with them, for a few hours every day. You have to put up with him _all the time_.”

Ace considers this for a long second, and then lets out a mournful bark.

“I know, boy, I know,” she sighs, and lifts her gaze to where Bruce is sitting in front of the computer – trying to subtly stalk Terry, Terry who just overheard her almost getting killed by a bad guy with a seriously overcompensating sword, and failing pretty much completely, “learn not to terrify every single cat you see, and then we can talk.”

 

\--

 

“Max,” it takes until after school the next day for Terry to corner her and hiss like a snake, and she supposes she should be grateful for the delay. Of course, it would’ve been better had the delay been _permanent_ \- but, ever since she became Batman and acquired a grumpy old guy for a mentor, she’s been learning to expect a lot less from life, “Max, hold up. What the hell _was_ last night?”

“Terry,” she says wearily, and turns on her heel. Tries, even if she’s pretty sure that it’ll do absolutely no good, to look as innocent as possible in the face of his vibrating outrage, “last night was nothing. I was just… Playing a new game, okay? It probably sounded a bit intense.”

“A bit intense?” Terry snaps disbelievingly, and leans in close. As much as she appreciates the secrecy, especially considering that Terry’s usually as good at keeping secrets as Ace is at doing backflips, it is kind of reminding her exactly why she’s not really into guys, “Max, it sounded like you were fighting a guy to the _death_ , it sounded like you were running around over the rooftops, it _sounded_ like you were the goddamn Batman.”

“…Come on, Terry, why does it have to be a guy-“ is the first thing that pops into her head, as she formulates a truly airtight denial. But, unfortunately, before she can get to that point there’s a crash and several shrill screams – and she turns, to see the sword of her nightmares heading straight for her once again.

 

\--

 

"Max," Bruce snaps over the Comms, after a few judicious hip wiggles to get the damn thing on and a few quick dodges to avoid getting her damn head cut off, "what's going on? I hear interference, has something happened?"

"Something and a half," she mutters, placing a hasty hand over Terry's already open mouth to stop him from getting them both killed in a hysterically painful and seemingly impossible sort of way, "thing one, Terry knows that I'm Batman."

A long pause. She takes a moment, a deeply satisfying moment, to imagine Bruce warring between the urge to get terribly angry and swoon like a teenager in heat, "not good, but not as terrible as I was expecting. Anything else?"

"Yeah, Kurare has turned up and is - as expected - trying to stab everybody," she balances up on the balls of her feet, keeping her hand over Terry's mouth. Tries to peer over the car they're sheltering behind, narrowing her eyes to see... "Oh, and Inque has turned up too. And they appear to be talking perfectly cheerfully with each other. And I think we may all be dead. _Yay_."

 

\--

 

"Max," Terry hisses, grabbing her arm and dragging her back down before she can draw attention to them or - far more likely - start banging her head against the side of the car, "what's going on? Can I do anything to help?"

"Batman stuff," she sighs, because she's pretty sure that there are more important things in the world right now than retaining the pretence of a grumpy and apparently – just her damn luck - perverted old guy, "and- excuse me, but what did you say?"

"Can I do anything to help?" Terry repeats, and keeps a hold on her arm. Probably a good thing, it keeps her from bursting out into hysterical laughter or anything even more dangerous. Like backflips, or endless horrified screaming, "come on, Max, I'm your best friend. Surely there's _something_ I can do?"

"Uh," she shifts awkwardly, takes him in for the moment: the floppy hair, the tense muscles, the ever so determined eyes... And starts to smile, ever so slow but ever so true, "well, it's probably not a good idea. But there may be one thing."

 

\--

 

"Max," Bruce murmurs over the Comms as she backflips over the car, kicks Kurare in the back of the head and turns the ice gun in her hand on Inque, "Max, have you figured out a course of action yet?"

"You shouldn't doubt me, B-man," she purrs, as Kurare stumbles and Inque partially ices over with a shriek. In the corner of her vision, Terry – distraction extraordinaire - gives a bright wave and sprints to safety, "I have to say, though, you were right. Terry has proved to be useful after all."

"Hrm," Bruce says, but sounds slightly smug underneath it all. It gratifies her, as she fires another blast and watches Inque crumple to the floor, that she's finally starting to be able to read the guy, "I thought as much. Keep me posted on him, alright? And remember to watch out for Kurare."

"Yeah, yeah. I know the game," she says casually, and spins with her mouth already open for more- right into Kurare's sword, bright and as shining as the sun.

 

\--

 

"Max?" Comes Terry's voice, as if from far away. Very far away, but getting closer by the second in a way that makes her head ache and her muscles spasm, "Max, can you hear us? Bruce, I think I saw her eyelid twitch-"

"Ter?" She manages sleepily, wobbling up into her elbows in a way that causes aches to shoot right through her. She's in a hospital bed, she knows that much - she's wearing a paper gown and the sheets are starched, and her entire body seems to be throbbing around her stomach in a way that is _far_ from Schway. Terry is standing over her, concern in his eyes - and just behind his ruffled head is... "Seriously, guys, in a _hospital_?"

"We were worried about you," Bruce says like it's perfectly natural, but does at least have the grace to look a little awkward. Hey, perhaps the grumpy old fossil still has a working heart after all, "it was a human reaction, and I stand by it. You almost _died_ , Max."

"Yeah, and I bet you would've made out at my funeral," she huffs, but softens at Terry's wince and Bruce's slightly deepened scowl. Because, hey, maybe her heart still works too. And maybe, just maybe, she’s starting to gain a bit of perspective in this whole crazy mess, "look, don't worry about it. I'm happy for you both, even if I will admit to being a bit happier for _me_. Now, tell me - where exactly did Kurare get me...?"

 

\--

 

“And you would not _believe_ how strong he is for an old dude. Like, yesterday he actually just picked me up and pinned me against the wall and _went_ for it. And, I mean, I never thought that was my thing! But when _he_ does it…”

“Terry,” she interrupts as patiently as she can, considering that her stomach still throbs slightly – because apparently getting stabbed there is the kind of thing that really hurts, no matter what kind of medical care you receive – and she currently wants to put her head through the table to stop a single word more getting through, “don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy for you and all the creepy old guy sex that you’re currently having. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, considering that you helped to save my life and are currently filling in and all, _but_ -“

“Oh, sorry,” Terry says innocently, and somehow fails to look it at all. It’s a good thing that he’s so adorable, and so sweet under all the brattiness, or she would’ve thrown aside the Batman creed and kicked him off a building _long_ before now, “hey, do you want me to try and get you a date with Dana to make up with it? Then I could have hot old guy sex, you could have hot lesbian sex, both of us would be so distracted by that that we wouldn’t actually have to listen to each other at all…”

…Or maybe not, you never know. Because despite everything, all the sleep deprivation and perverted old guys and getting stabbed in the stomach, her life is starting to turn out pretty fucking fantastic after all.


End file.
